


The Ghost in You

by lemonlovely



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, M/M, No Smut, Pining, Post S3, Pre-Slash, Profanity, Slurs, Violence, a little bit non con-ish, flayed!Steve, terrible-human-neil-hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonlovely/pseuds/lemonlovely
Summary: When Billy wakes up handcuffed to a radiator, he's pissed the hell off when he realizes the kids think he's been possessed again, and locked him up to burn it out - but the horror of it becomes real when it's in factStevethat's been Flayed all along, and he has some plans for Billy in mind.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 17
Kudos: 212
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	The Ghost in You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/gifts).



> For Ihni's prompt, to go with with the stunningggg piece of art by @Saberghatz - https://saberghatz.tumblr.com/post/190185335378/harringrove-for-australia-charity-commission

“HEAT! He needs more heat!” Someone was yelling. "ASAP!"

Everything tipped at a sickening angle, like the world's axis was off, as Billy slowly came back to himself – he felt clammy and sick all over, like he was gonna blow chunks, like he’d been on some kinda bad acid trip and was coming back down real slow. 

Felt a lot like de-ja-vu from the last time he’d woke up like this, after Max stuck him like a fuckin’ pig in the neck with her mystery syringe full of magic drugs.

Come to think of it, he realized, it had happened again. It was all comin' back. It wasn’t just no de-ja-vu, it was reality. God fucking dammit, what was it with these little shit heads and trying to shoot him up? He hadn’t even _done_ nothin’ this time… he didn’t think, anyway. 

What the actual fuck. The last thing he remembered before getting jabbed in the goddamn throat, was getting ready to leave the house with Max – they’d been heading out to the diner like they’d been doin’ every Friday night, since she said it got him outta the house - _'you need Vitamin D, Billy! You're gonna turn into a vegetable sitting in here all day.' 'That's why it's called veggin', Maxine.'_

Her little nerd squad had been waitin’ on the front step of the sun porch in a piss poor ambush, but he hadn't been expecting it, alright? Everything went hazy after that – just remembered Max screamin’ at ‘em while they stabbed him with a syringe.

Now, even if he was able to crack his eyes open, his vision was still swimming, blurred like he was lookin’ through some kinda fogged over glass in winter.

And he realized he couldn’t move.

He rattled his fists, clanking against some kinda heavy iron, bound by the wrists. Hard edged metal digging into his skin, biting and hot. He jerked up hard and fast with adrenaline flooding him in a tidal wave, entire body slamming upwards, jerking his hands with him, but the momentum didn’t carry him far – the binds just clinked and drug him back down. 

“What th’ – whaaaa thu’ FUCK.” Billy spat as everything tipped, dipped, threatened to go upside down like the roller coaster out at the Santa Monica Pier back home. His heart was jack hammering in his chest, threatening to split his ribs apart. “The FUCK.” 

“This is for your own good!” Someone was mouthin’ away at him, and Billy glared through the haze of the world as if sheer will power alone could force the blur away.

He could see some kinda stupid looking hat, he thought, and realized it was that curly headed little dumbass Henderson – the kid with no teeth. Had some kinda ‘condition.’

“HENDERSON! Get me OUT OF HERE!” Billy roared. At least, he hoped it was a roar – he wasn’t for sure if it really came out that way, though.

As more of his senses came back to him, he realized what exactly ‘here’ entailed. He was handcuffed. Honest to god, kid you not handcuffs. The kind the Chief’d probably carried around before he bit the dust, along with half the town. At least that one hadn’t been Billy’s fault. 

Either way, wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine where they’d dug these up from. They’d been friends with his daughter, the…the girl, Eleven before she’d gone away. Still thought about her, sometimes, though. Even if he’d only known her for that split instant, before everything’d gone dark. Before he’d stood up, and died.

Now, Billy was here. Handcuffed to an old painted white radiator, the kind that they had in real old houses, like the kind they used to have at their shitty old apartment with the ratty carpets, when he was a kid. Used to make funny noises, groaning and clanking and carrying on when it was fired up. 

Billy’d jerked as he realized how close he was to it, shying away a bit, straining at the cuffs at his wrists – but they held firm, and so did the pipe he was chained to where the piping led down into the hard wood floor. Down underground.

The desperate movement stretched the pale, pinking scar tissue that spread out in starbursts over the center of his chest, and over his obliques. They burned with protest, and he realized right quick that he couldn’t fight it as much as he would have normally – not without possibly doin’ some real damage. He wasn’t in the hospital no more, but he was still healing – they’d told him it would take months, and then maybe even years to grow back the nerves properly. If he was so lucky. Maybe then they wouldn’t hurt like such a bitch.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Billy – not until we’re sure!” Henderson told him so helpfully. 

Another blurry shape was joining the first, this one with a darker cap of hair and some kind of stupid striped shirt. 

“Ugh, look at him. He’s totally Flayed! You can see it in the eyes!” Wheeler, that little shit. 

Billy’s stomach went cold at that, dropped through the fucking floor.

Flayed? As in, possessed?

No. No, he wasn’t, that was – that was _months_ ago. He wasn’t even in the hospital anymore. He was okay. Wasn’t he? He searched himself, his thoughts, his mind, probing weakly for fear of finding something there, something that didn’t belong, something alien – but no. No. It was quiet. Only him, and his thoughts.

He was in control. He was okay. But he was chained to a radiator, and he didn’t WANT to be chained to the radiator – it made him think, of their place back when he was a kid, when his mom was still around and – he couldn’t BE here – 

“I’M NOT POSSESSED!” He screamed, voice hoarse and spittle flying. It made his chest ache, made it burn, his lungs on fire.

“We can’t know that for sure,” came another, softer voice – Billy knew that voice. Sinclair. “Steve said, said he saw you – “ 

“Oh, beacause 'Steve said?' Harrington ain’t seen shit, dickwad! 'm FINE. Let me go, or I swear – I _swear_ \- “ 

“See? He says he’s fine! I told you this was stupid, Steve must have been wrong – “ Max. Max was here? Sounded like she’d been crying, really stuffy nosed and snotty, weepy-like. Billy was gonna kill her stupid little friends, kill ‘em dead – they got her crying? Nobody could make Max cry but Billy, dammit.

“Don’t you think Billy would have wanted us to do this for him? If we’d known earlier before, we could have stepped in sooner, and avoided so many casualties. He would have thanked us, once he was himself.” Henderson carried on.

And okay sure maybe when he wasn't so fucking pissed off he'd be touched or whatever that they thought they were helpin' him, but it didn't occur to him right now. Not like this.

“Well – well I dunno, I mean I guess – “ Max murmured. Billy blinked furiously, trying to bring her into focus, but everything was swimming and he was still doped up - it was like being trapped in a goddamn fog. He thought he caught the copper glint of her hair in the mist of his vision, though, and her dumb freckled face, pale with worry. What had they shot him up him with, anyway? “But I mean he’s been better, alright?”

“He seems pretty mad _now.”_ Wheelers commented snidely.

“Well yeah – yeah it makes sense, because clearly it’s realized we’re onto it, so now it’s trying to rectify the personality correction – “ Henderson prattled on

“You little fuckers don’t get it, alright? I can’t – be here. Let me go. Let me GO, DAMMIT.” Billy snapped, giving the cuffs a harsh jerk, but he was weaker than he used to be, couldn’t work out or nothing, and it was wrought iron – didn’t even budge, held firm. “MAXINE! Ain’t possessed, it’s just me!”

The heels of his combat boots scraped against the worn, weathered floorboards under him. He had no idea where the fuck they’d stuffed him with some kinda working radiator, half the places around here didn’t have that old fashioned bullshit anymore. If they just got close enough he’d clock ‘em with a good kick to the head, see how happy they were about chaining him up THEN. “Not some FUCKING ANIMAL!”

“But he was being – almost – kind of NICE!” Max protested. “Like he was normal!”

“That’s what the MindFlayer would want us to think, it’s a trick,” Sinclair was saying in some kinda placating motion towards Max. Billy’d always known that kid was for shit – he’d told Maxine to dump his sorry ass, but she was so wishy-washy about it. 

“C’mon, Steve’s here with the heaters! Let’s go! We can help him unload!” Henderson exclaimed. They all milled together to head outside, Max glancing back at him only once, over her shoulder, biting at her lip, but she shuffled out too.

“YOU’RE _SO_ DEAD!” Billy shouted after them, spitting mad. “You hear me!? DEAD!” 

He’d broken out in a fine sweat, and he realized that it was fucking hot in here. Real hot. The radiator was turned up all the way, and it was sending out waves of stifling heat – if he touched it, he’d be burned for sure. Even the metal of the handcuffs ‘round his wrists were lit up hot, marking his skin red wherever they touched. He couldn’t breathe – was breathin’ too fast, had to get the fuck out of here. He fucking hated these radiators. Should be rusting in the dark ages where they fucking belonged. Modern heating existed for a reason, welcome to the 1900's and all. He was gonna be sick - he hoped those little shits were happy when they were cleaning up his puke - about what they deserved. 

He could still remember how it felt – when his old man’d grabbed him by the wrist, hard enough to bruise, and shoved his left hand right up against the closest white iron coil. Back when Billy’d been working on his homework one December evening, when they’d been having a cold snap out in San Diego, and it’d been real cold, blowing in off the ocean. How his old man had told him he couldn’t keep usin’ his left hand like that, no kid of his was gonna use their left hand – the schools ‘n churches had it right when they tried to beat that backwards shit outta kids, how had they not given him the cane yet?

How many times had Neil had to tell him? Or for the teacher to? Write with your right hand, boy, understand? None of this pansy left-handed horseshit under my roof. Maybe this'll teach you. You've got to learn.

But Billy didn't remember a lesson - he could only remember howling, the way he’d cried, tears streaming hot down his cheeks, but not as hot as the radiator under his palm. Screaming, fighting, pleading, but his pops had held his hand flat as it sizzled – until he finally dropped it, and his mom was screaming too, pounding at Neil’s back with her fists as Billy just…sobbed, hand cradled to his chest. You couldn't _change_ that she said - you couldn't _change_ that about a person, you were born that way. There was nothing WRONG with it.

His mom’d gotten popped real good for that one, once, twice, until she shut the fuck up, 'n dragged Billy away to the bathroom – trembling, cheek cherry red and swollen, her mascara smudged black with tears, as she sprayed his hand with Bactine, and bound it up - even though he hadn’t been able to open it up all the way. He’d remembered that part. How his hand had refused to obey him. 

'You can't change that, baby," she'd whispered to him. 'You can't _change_ that. There's nothing wrong with it, okay? Only unique. _Special._ You're so special, Billy baby. I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...just a little longer, okay? Just a little longer.' 

Honestly, it’d been real hazy back then, just like it was now. She’d told him he was in shock, afterwards. He didn’t remember much of it, once his bare palm had touched that radiator coil. But it’d taken weeks before they’d been able to take off the gauze wrapped around his hand, and his mom kept having to change it ‘cause it kept oozing through, yellow and sickly. She'd said it would just be a little longer - but she'd never mentioned it was only for her. Not for Billy. 

The feeling in his left hand had never been quite the same after that. He’d lost more feeling the more times it happened, and after all that business with holding back the Frankenstines-monster-of-corpses, it was pretty shot to hell. 

He was still left handed, though. Sometimes he could use his right, if he was pushed, back when they used to force him to do it in school. He’d learned to stop doing any school work in front of his dad, and could make do with his right hand in a pinch. But he’d been too stubborn to ever do it for real, his pops always said he was stubborn as an old ass. Too hard headed to listen, to learn. But nothing ever felt right, doing anything with the wrong hand. Nobody could understand that but his mom, he guessed. Then she’d been gone, too.

He could feel the panic creeping in – he had to get away. He twisted towards the damned radiator, the heat rolling off of it as he studied the shining silver cuffs, searching the floor around him, He was alone, nobody else was there, and this was his chance.

He was looking for anything. Stray safety pin, a sewing pin, bobby pin, any kind of pin or even something close. But there wasn’t anything. In fact, it was real empty. This whole place. Totally abandoned. But then it came to him – he knew this place, like a phantom memory. It was the Byers’ old place, the creepy shack in the woods – he didn’t know why the power ‘n water were still on, but he had more important things to deal with than why the utilities were still hooked up. 

“Hey,” came a new, friendly voice from the direction of the door.

Billy jerked away from where he was hunched over on the floor by the radiator, his boots scrabbling over the floorboards as he zeroed in on the newcomer with an almost rabid, furious gaze. Teeth bared.

But his traitorous heart immediately picked up even worse than before, in an entirely new way. Jesus, he couldn’t help the way his heart did that, the second it realized Harrington was near. Billy tried not to look like he’d just been about to lose his shit, or have some little baby freak out, or how his heart was suddenly leaping in his chest at the sight of him. 

He’d been avoiding Harrington – didn’t take his calls, didn’t see him at the video store. Nothing. The last time he’d seen him had been at the hospital, the couple times he’d come to visit. When Billy’d been too weak to fight it, and too doped up to really recognize it. 

“Harrington! Thank God.” Billy snapped. “Those little shitheads have really lost it this time, alright? Get me outta here right the fuck now!” 

Harrington was walking towards him across the room, all long, easy loping strides – he looked real good, in one of his cute lil’ polos that looked like he was ready for Easter, even if it was only September, and a pair of Chinos that would have made Billy wanna punch his lights out if he were a lesser man. His trademark Nike sneakers squeaked a little on the floorboards as he tread towards Billy, sunlight spilling in behind him all golden through the bared windows, all the curtains removed.

Jesus, Billy needed him to believe him – if any of them were gonna listen to reason, it had to be Harrington. Even if Henderson had said that it was Harrington that’d tipped ‘em off, he could prove that he wasn’t possessed – all he had to do was talk to ‘im, it’s just ‘cause they hadn’t been talking, he could make him understand - and – just – he couldn’t be chained to this fucking torture device, not a second longer – he was gonna have to hulk the fuck out or something otherwise, because he couldn’t even pick the locks – 

“I ain’t possessed, alright? Got the wrong guy, man.”

Then Harrington was real close, and even if Billy’s been planning on kicking the shit out of any of those little fuckers for chaining him up here like some sort of mutt in the yard, he wasn’t gonna kick Harrington. He’d already fucked him up real bad last year, and Billy’d been trying to be better – Max wasn’t wrong.

Woah woah woah, why was he so close? He – shit, he was suddenly real up in Billy’s personal space, leaning in way too near. He smelled like that good Polo cologne he always wore and something sweet and flowery, some kinda hair product Billy’d always thought smelled nice – when that wild hair was up close and in his face out on the basketball court. And he had that just – that Harrington smell about him, the unique warm sweet summer scent that was just – Steve. 

“Oh, I know you're not.” Harrington said as he leaned in close enough to murmur in Billy’s ear, his voice low, breath hot, tickling at the shell of cartilage, making him shiver – close enough to light up Billy’s whole body with the proximity, with a heat that had nothing to do with the radiator. 

He knew? What? Did that mean he was gonna let him go?

“But _I_ am.”

Somethin’ a lot like anti-freeze prickled fast through Billy’s veins, drowning out the heat that’d been swathing off the radiator, making buckets of sweat drip offa him – sweat that turned ice cold at that exact moment, chilling him right down to the marrow. A growing, black kind of horror was fast on it’s heels, flooding his system - a stalled out car engine. What?

No. What? No. It had to be a sick joke. If it was, Billy wasn’t laughing.

But then Harrington pulled back just enough for Billy to actually get a better look at him, pulling him into focus – really _looking_ at him. 

He looked dead serious, and he was so close, close enough to share air – and just close enough that he caught a new scent that he hadn’t before. Something altogether not Harrington at all. Something that had nothing to do with his musky cologne, or girly hair products, or that enticing scent of summer, even as the leaves were falling, crumpled brown and auburn from the Hawkins trees outside. 

It was the sudden, sharp, pungent tang of rotten meat – putrid and ancient, cloying and almost somehow - sweet. A scent old as time itself. A scent that Billy was – intimately aware of, familiar with.

It’d been the overpowering stench that’d almost made him pass out as that – that thing, that fanged, blooming creeper vine had suctioned over his face like some real Face-Hugger shit from Alien.

He’d never forget that smell, the cling of it, like spoiled meat left too long in the fridge, or a roadkill deer sitting too long off the side of the highway, bloating in the sun. 

Then he caught the look in Harrington’s big chocolate dark doe eyes – the whites of them were washed out pink, bright with unshed tears. At odds with the rest of his face, which appeared at ease, almost smug as he pulled back, mouth curled up into a one sided smirk.

And Billy – Billy knew that look, too. It was the look that’d been in his own eyes, as he’d been trapped in his own fucking body. Screaming and screaming and screaming, looking out through a glass window, invisible. No one to hear him. 

But he could see it, the sound of it, there in the depths of Harrington’s eyes. And he knew – he just knew – that Harrington was in there. Screaming. Billy felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him as he watched as those desperate, pleading eyes – those overwrought, tear bright eyes flicked towards the radiator with a plethora of distaste, and Billy knew what for – the heat. It hated the heat. 

Billy’s brain skipped like a heat warped record left in the car too long in August, and he was sure – sure it had to be a nightmare, one of the fucked up nightmares that he woke up to screaming in the middle of the night until Max came into the room, flicking the light on, and Susan would flutter around him offering to make him some chamomile tea. But he wasn’t waking up. Why wasn’t he waking up? It was _back_. No. No, it'd never left.

“We thought you would appreciate the creativity,” Harrington said, a puppet with words coming out. And even his voice had changed now, another, deeper layer overlaying his original, soft tone – like an ancient, stained linen being placed over a fine silk. Stifling it. Altering it. Merging together, bleeding fibers, until it was a new fabric altogether.

Jesus Christ. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true, how could it be true? The gate was closed, Eleven – she’d closed the ‘gate,’ and Billy’d tried to put everything to a stop. He’d done everything he could. All of the other hosts had been dead, and Billy’d never dragged Harrington to the Steelworks to flay him up like the others, like Billy. It couldn’t be. How? _How_?

“Can’t be. You can’t be.” Billy breathed, the wind knocked out of him, and he hadn’t even taken any hits. The words trailed out of him, wispy and faint. Disbelieving. 

“Oh, We believe you’ll find it _can._ ” Harrington said, kneeling back enough that he could crouch there, propping an elbow on a knee, and his cheek upon an open palm. The corners of his mouth curled up in a devastatingly terrifying grin – warped Harrington’s face like a mask. His face’d never be able to look like that, not really. Studying Billy with something absolutely predatory, black as death, and horribly amused, while _screaming_. All at once.

“We didn’t forget – We never forget.“ Harrington, no, no NOT Harrington – gestured towards the radiator with his one free hand. “Your fond memories of these contraptions. A nice touch, isn’t it?”

Billy twisted like a snake against the bindings at his wrists and promptly spit in Not-Harrington’s face. The creature reached up to glide a few fingertips over the globule of saliva to draw it away, gazing down at it in contemplation, as if it found it fascinating in some way. Only intrigued, not disgusted. Then those eyes snapped back up to Billy, sharp, calculating, volatile. 

“You remember the girl. What We built for her – how We could destroy her. It’s only a matter of time until she’s part of the Hive. And you? You will always remain as one of Us. But We do not like that you tried to defy Us. And now? We will remind you, where you belong. As One.”

Billy fought, fought against the chained restraints, until his wrists were ruby red, blistered and burned with the fire of the metal and the grate against tender skin. He snarled in Not-Harrington’s face, like the feral animal he’d been treated like.

“Like HELL." Billy growled. "Never. Not one o' you. Not anymore. You can’t keep Harrington, you hear me you sick fuck – he’s not yours either - “ 

Not-Harrington gave a smile that made the fine, baby hairs at the back of Billy’s neck raise. 

“He was one of the closest to take, when we knew. When you failed.” Harrington, the closest bystander - close enough that one of those tentacles could have gotten to him, before the apparent 'victory' - and it was all Billy's fault. 

Billy had to DO something. Not-Harrington leaned in so close again, and if he juuust got close enough…there, _bingo_ , gotchya – Billy jerked his head back to head-butt him, just like he’d done to Harrington in this exact same living room – nearly a year ago now.

But Not-Harrington reacted with the striking movement of a viper – an inhuman speed - snatching at the back of Billy’s mullet mid-motion, grabbing on tight and drawing his head back hard – exposing the line of his throat, before Billy’d even made contact, or felt the crunch of that big beautiful nose under the crown of his skull.

He huffed, panting hard, breathing hot and fast, puffed air through his nostrils as Not-Harrington trailed the tip of that nose along the column of his throat, all the way up to his jaw. Billy felt – frozen. Abso-fucking-lutely frozen. 

“ _Ah-ah._ No games. He’s already Ours, you see.” He said. “We know how you coveted him. Desired him. We took him, for you. That’s the thing about your species. You’re just as primal as the animals you’re so keen to destroy. You only do so many things in your short lives. Sleep. Eat. Fuck. Isn’t that your word? To copulate? Yes. And you wanted that with him, another male of your kind. We know. How _shameful_ you found it. How _wrong._ What you did in the dark, thinking of him. And now he is Ours. One of Us.”

A bright flash of shame filled him - heady and dizzying, mortifying. Because if the Shadow knew all of it - _all of it_ , then Harrington knew now too. Harrington _knew_ , and Billy was sick with it. Even if all of it was said in that voice, not his - he knew. That voice, overlapping the one that had once been Harrington’s, was so familiar. Burned into his brain even more intimately than his own mother’s, who he couldn’t even remember anymore, not even when he tried.

It was the one that had haunted his mind like a ghost – haunted him still. And it paralyzed him. 

Billy couldn’t even move, could hardly dare breathe, with Not-Harrington still pinning his head back by his sweat damp curls, hand fisted tight at the base of his skull.  
Nipping at his jaw with those straight white teeth, as a hot flood of _wrong wrong wrong_ nearly drowned Billy – because he’d wanted it for so long. Dreamed of it, even if he’d known he could never have it. Touched himself, whacking it on the nightly to the thought of _Steve fucking Harrington_ like the Shadow knew he had - read his memories like an open book, memories Billy hadn't even remebered he had. No matter how many times his old man told him wasn't right in the head - didn't seem to stop him. Even when he tried not to be some faggot - couldn't even get it up for any of the Hawkins cows.

His eyes snapped shut, all long, trembling lashes, breathing hard through his nose as one of those big hands ran down over Billy's denim jacket, to play with the buckle of his belt - the seam of his Levis. _Fuck_. No, _no._ Wrong wrong WRONG. it wasn't HIM, even if his body told him it was. But he couldn’t _move,_ even as that stench of putrid rot washed over his face as Not-Harrington hovered over him, still crouching there. Billy’s boot heels dragging sluggishly over the floorboards as if to try and back away, but all he did was hit the wall at his back. Shoulder blades knocking into the faded floral wallpaper, molars clenching so hard they creaked in his head, choking on a dry sob. The buzzing in the back of his head was so bad, felt like a mosquito that'd flown straight into a bug zapper. Fucking fried.

“Just a kiss.” Not-Harrington said. “That's what you've wanted, isn't it? C'mon, _Hargrove_ -" and he almost sounded like Harrington, just a little, when he said that, flicking at the copper zip of his fly, like an _incentive_ of some kind "- just a kiss, and you can be with him. With Us. We.” 

No. No fuck, not that – not again – not again – Jesus but he was trapped, his body felt heavy with the _voice_ in his ear, hypnotic and lulling, along with the wet tongue that lapped against his earlobe, sending a sharp spike of heat through his body in a way that he didn’t want – because it wasn’t Harrington. It WASN’T HARRINGTON. 

But he was still IN there, staring out through pleading, terrified eyes, even as his mouth worked Billy over. Licked the salt from his skin. Moving in for a kiss that would seal Billy’s fate, fill him with the Shadow, like a black cloud of locusts – and there was a tingling in the back of his skull, right at the nape of his neck, like an itch inside his fucking brain that he just can’t scratch, and he knows it’s him. The Shadow.

He’d felt it, sometimes, just a few times – that prickle of sensation – since the fire at Starcourt. Since the collapse of the whole mall, since he’d died, and then woken up again when he really shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have been possible, but here he was.

But Owens had told him it was in his head – just like a muscle memory, a spasm of trauma, PTSD he called it. And Billy’d told himself it wasn’t real. But wasn’t that the same bullshit they’d been spoonfeeding Byers?

But the gate was closed. How could he have known? It was in Harrington all along, and Billy had spent enough time avoiding him that he hadn’t even seen the signs. Had no way of knowing. Billy’d been trapped with that fucking demon for a week. A week. Harrington was pushing two, almost three months now. Totally under the radar. No one even knew, would have thought to look. Nobody but Billy. And he’d been too busy _hiding_.

He could hear the kids bickering outside, out front of the house, probably by Not-Harrington’s pretty little brick red Beamer – sorting out heaters or something, they’d said, and they told him how they’d ‘saved’ Byers. Burned the motherfucker out of him, like they’d sort of tried to do with Billy in the sauna back at work, even if it’d been more of a test in his case. He hadn’t been as worthy of saving as the Byers boy, Billy figured. Couldn’t really blame ‘em, he guessed. He knew he wasn’t worth shit anyway – not to nobody. Not even Max.

“I’d rather fucking _die_ ,” Billy choked out at Not-Harrington as he tried to loosen his locked up muscles – _fight back_ , he told himself. Don’t let him get that mouth on his, even if he’d dreamed of that for he didn’t know how long. This wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. Even as Not-Harrington was moving in close, close enough that Billy dry-heaved on the smell of death on his breath. 

“That can also be arranged,” Not-Harrington told him sweetly, a smug tinge to that voice-over-a-voice. Layers of cruelty and the surety of victory. “I have all of your little ducklings, all in a row, after all. They'll be Ours, too. We never forget, not what they did to Us - or you. Even in death, you are of the Hive.” 

The Hive. He couldn't go back, he couldn't. Billy went colder still, even half pressed against the wall by the radiator. And the kids. It was – after the kids, too? Not just Billy? No. He couldn’t have them, he couldn’t. The Shadow couldn’t have them. They were just kids, just dumbass little kids. It couldn’t have _Max_ – Billy wouldn’t _let it._

“ _Fuck_ you,” Billy spat.

“A winning repertoire, as always. Is that an offer?” Not- Harrington said, mouthing dry lips over Billy’s cheek, soft mouth against the scrape of his stubble, and something twisted so tight in Billy he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t move, throat bared, exposed. The itch at the back of his skull was scrambling his fucking brain, cutting the receptors, drowning out his hearing with something like radio static. “We know you want him.”

“You ain’t him.”

“ _He_ is _Us._ ” 

Billy shuddered as a felt an icy tear hit his cheek – and it wasn’t his own. Not-Harrington’s mouth moved over the corner of his lips, and Billy wanted to scream, to cry, to punch him the fuck out because he couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he’d rather die than be that thing’s meat puppet. Doing it’s ‘dark bidding’ or whatever the fuck world domination it had planned. And he had to help Harrington, had to help him in a way no one had helped him, not until Eleven had stepped in with that little hand of hers on his cheek. Harrington needed that now. But Billy didn’t have no mind powers. He had nothing to offer. He’d have to think fast.

"Like hell he is." Billy gasped, all shuddering breath as he tried to play keep away from that wandering mouth. Why couldn't he _move_?

But with Not-Harrington’s mouth busy, Billy felt it - a large hand against his, all brushing knuckles and unsure, fumbling fingertips – one of those soft _hadn't-done-a-days-hard-work-in-his-life_ hands, with the slender, nimble fingers that Billy coulda looked at for days. They were elegant, he’d always thought, for a guy. Jesus, and the dude had hands so big. Bigger than Billy’s, but more slender too. 

He was pressing something into Billy’s palm. Something thin, metallic, fragile. Billy’s fist curled around it, and his brain provided him with what it was, just by touch alone. A safety pin. It was a safety pin. Thank Jesus.

And then Not-Harrington’s hand was gone. But no…no, he realized. It HAD been Harrington, with a subtle movement while the Shadow was distracted. Moving in. 

It was just enough to break the spell. Billy thrashed his head back, away from Not-Harrington’s little kiss-of-death, squirming on the old floorboards, smacking the back of his skull on the wallpaper. Right where his brain itched like a scratchy wool blanket, just to get away from that searching, burning mouth. 

The front door swung open. “We’ve got ‘em! Oh Steve, woah buddy that’s a little close! Gotta be more careful.” 

The Brat Pack were all trooping in, arms full of those hulking portable heaters that plugged in, trailing cords behind a few of them on the ground. 

Not-Harrington’s moment was lost, and Billy saw the flash of pure, unadulterated fury that flashed over his face with his back turned, even with those honeyed eyes huge and bereft, sunken into their sockets as he turned away from Billy in a sudden fluid movement to standing. Then he was all happy go lucky, just a goofy fun-lovin guy, propping his hands on his hips like some kind of mother hen. 

“Hey guys! Okay you got me, I just wanted to make sure you little shitheads didn’t mess up the handcuffs is all.” Not-Harrington laughed at them all chipper, and Jesus, it sounded so much like him. So normal. Hearing it, Billy wouldn’t have even known, 'specially not with his back turned. “I’ll let you guys get the heaters set up, I’ve gotta get some fresh air – I’ll be right back.” 

Yeah, Billy bet. Too hot in here for it, he was sure – he was surprised the Shadow’d endured being as close to the radiator as it had, but with the added heat from the portables, he knew it’d be too much to take. But it wanted Billy, and it’d lost it’s moment. Otherwise it’d have to take them all at once, single-handedly, and Billy knew it liked to get people alone before flaying ‘em. It liked to multiply first. Harrington to Billy, then spread out from there. It didn’t like numbers and odds it couldn’t manage, Billy knew. It'd needed to snuff Billy before it could take the rest of 'em - and they'd bested that fucker before with their horrible fireworks display. 

Billy twisted away with a furious urgency, placing the pin between two fingers to pop the sharp end out of its protective cap, and ducked his head down. Wrists bent awkwardly as he slid the tip of it into the locking mechanism of the cuffs. Gave it a deft, practiced little wiggle, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration.

Harrington was still there – Billy’d known it, but…but he’d helped him, even when it was Harrington who needed the help. He had enough power to control that one movement. It was more than Billy could have said, up until Eleven helped him.

He couldn’t have lifted a finger if he tried, back then. He remembered the kids tellin’ him that when all that was goin’ on with the Byers boy – Will – that even when he hadn’t been able to use his mouth no more, couldn’t talk without the Shadow being active, he’d still had the use of his hands. At least for a time. Used Morse Code to communicate – smart as shit. Even a lil’ kid had had more control than Billy had. And apparently Harrington too.

“Hey assholes, you gotta get outta here, hear me?!” Billy was shouting as he worked at the lock with his fresh new pick. 

“Um what are you talking about we are here to help Billy,” Henderson rattled on as he went over to a plug in the wall to plug in the heater. He cranked up the dial, sighing and fanned himself with his stupid hat, curls springing up like a Chia pet. “You can’t fool us, sir!”

“It ain’t me, Christ! It’s Harrington! Harrington’s got the Shadow, alright?! And you little shits all walked right into a goddamn trap!” 

“I think we’d know if Steve was Flayed,” Sinclair said dryly. 

“How _dumb_ do you think we are?” Wheeler scoffed, pleasant as always.

“Well clearly you don’t know shit, so dumb as rocks…” Billy muttered to himself as he felt something click in the cuffs. Bingo.

“Hey woah what is he doing? WHAT IS HE DOING? Billy! What do you have!” Henderson shouted at him like a dog that had something in it’s mouth it wasn’t supposed to have.

“Nothing!” Billy hissed under his breath, safety pin in hand. He grabbed at the left cuff, pulled it free, and snaked the chain out from under the water pipe. 

Free. 

Billy stood up real fast, towering up above them, already real pissed off real fast. 

Sinclair screamed like a goddamn girl and jumped behind Max, who was staring at him all wide-eyed. Henderson was chanting _'ohmygodohmygodohmygod'_ under his breath like a mantra. Wheeler was holding his portable heater in front of him like a sheild - what a NERD.

“We need to save Harrington. Can’t leave him like that.” Billy snapped. “So buck the fuck up and help, or get the hell out of here, far and fast as you can go. ‘cause if not, you’re just wasting my time with this _bullshit_.” He threw the cuffs on the ground with a clatter to make his point, wrists worn raw from the chafing.

“How can we know it’s not you?!” Wheeler shouted at him in a hysterical, breaking, pre-pubescent wastoid voice. Probably wishing he had some fucking fireworks. 

Billy’s upper lip lifted in a sneer, but he needed them to fucking trust him, or they’d end up right back where they’d started. He reached out and grabbed a hand around a chipped, white coil of the radiator, fisting around it – his right hand, not his left, and it only spasmed once. Gritting his teeth and hissing against the cage of them before he let it go, smarting with the dull burn of it. He'd taken it before, could take it again. And now, the price on the line was too great not to do it. To prove himself. He hadn't held on long enough to do much damage either way, and it was almost cathartic, somehow. On his own terms. He couldn't afford to be afraid - not of this, and not of the shadow monster - not that he was _afraid_ of anything.

“ Any questions?”

They all shook their heads, shell shocked, mouths agape.

"Believe me now? It's Harrington, alright? I swear! You in or what?" 

The lot of them exchanged hurried glances - some kind of unspoken conversation that Billy couldn't interpret, he had more brain cells than that.

"I TOLD you guys," Max huffed, throwing her guilty-puppy, apologetic look Billy's way when she'd fucked up.

"We're not going anywhere without Steve!" Henderson said. "All for one!" And that was their choice. 

"Then let's _GO_ , dammit."

They had to save Steve Harrington, if it was the last thing Billy'd do. Because no one deserved that fate. No one.

**Author's Note:**

> The Ghost in You - The Psychedelic Furs, '84


End file.
